


Everything Is Grey

by firstwiththeheadthenwiththeheart



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multi, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-31
Updated: 2018-05-31
Packaged: 2019-05-16 10:37:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14809763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firstwiththeheadthenwiththeheart/pseuds/firstwiththeheadthenwiththeheart
Summary: Just as Tim Drake is starting to feel a little complacency, he is hit with a warning sign--a threat to the Robin's. It's a threat made without a message, and Tim is desperate to figure out what it all means.Cecelia has a past, and she generally doesn't like to visit it--however, when one part of her past sweeps her up into the life she always wanted: one of saving people; she realizes that she will have to confront another part. Sooner, more likely than later.





	Everything Is Grey

Sometimes it was hard for him to remember life before.

Before he sat on roofs, waiting for a voice to crackle in his ear and tell him where to be. Before he had to wear a mask and put his life on the line night after night. Before Cass , or Dick , or Alfred , or Damian , or Steph . Before Batman.

But other times it was remarkably easy for Tim to remember.

Like this night.

The sun has long since set, and he could remember watching it from the apartment alone while his parents worked. He remembered flipping through the pages of his books filled with photos he had taken, and remembered the longing he had for what Dick had, for what Jason had. He also remembered the silence—whether it was because of absence, or merely the frigid air that seemed to cling to his parents. 

It was different than the silence he had now. Bruce silent in thought. Damian silently fuming. Alfred holding his tongue. Dick sleeping. Cass just…being Cass. The silence was warm now. It never made him feel alone.

“Nightwing to Red Robin,” Dick’s voice chirped, startling Tim and causing him to sway slightly from where he was crouched on the ledge of a rooftop.

“Red Robin here,” Tim peered over the skyline and saw nothing.

It had been a slow night, and when he wasn’t reminiscing, he was thinking about the amount of work he had piled up from his Wayne Enterprise internship, and the stack of homework on his desk. Not to mention figuring out who the Hell was the mystery man taking over the drug dealer rings.

“Want to grab a burger? I’m starving, and Oracle hasn’t sent me anything all night,” Dick sounded cheerful, as always.

Tim thought he heard an annoyed huff. Assumedly from Damian.

“I would send you something, if there was anything going on, but as it is—”

“I’m not _blaming_ you, Babs,” Dick said. “I’m _justifying_. Meet me at Bluejay Cafe in twenty, Red?”

Tim wondered if this was some sort of intervention. He and Dick hadn’t spent quality time together in quite some time. Sure, there was family dinners that Alfred insisted they all attended on   
Sunday’s. But no Tim and Dick quality brother time in…? Tim actually couldn’t remember.

Which could be the exact reason that Dick was asking.

Tim knew he shouldn’t over think it, but... _still_. 

He wracked his brain for something he had messed up on lately, but couldn’t think of anything Dick Grayson intervention worthy.

“Still there, Red?” Dick called, a rush of air accompanying him.

He must already be headed toward the diner. It was one of Tim’s favorites, which was such a Dick thing to know. He tried to think of Dick’s favorite place to eat, but couldn’t—and made a mental note to ask Babs. 

Maybe it was because Tim had almost had his leg crushed a couple of weeks ago, because his lack of sleep had finally caught up to his reflexes, causing him to be just a fraction slower. But his leg _hadn’t_ been crushed—he _had_ pulled it away in time, and caught the guy selling drugs to local high schoolers. So, it couldn’t be that.

“Yeah, sure,” Tim said, but something felt off—there was a twist in Tim’s gut. “I’ll meet you there.”

Another annoyed sigh.

“I would like to know why I was not invited, Grayson,” Damian’s voice rang out, finally.

Tim closed his eyes, and pinched the bridge of his nose, waiting for Dick’s reply. If he refused to let Damian tag along, something was definitely wrong, but if he did let him, then Tim would have to put up with Damian for an hour.

Seemed like a lose/lose scenario.

He spread his fingers from the bridge of his nose over his eyes, rubbing them through his domino mask. He should have taken the night off, and gotten some sleep, or just had Babs wake him if there was something dire—

_Thawack_.

There was a burning sensation that ran from Tim’s navel all the way to his sternum as he flew back off the ledge of the roof, and skidding along the top of it. All the air had been forced from his lungs, and his eyes had flown open at the first sign of contact, but he barely saw a thing, until he came to a halt with a boot pressing hard against his chest.

His ribs creaked under the pressure, and there was a pistol pressed against his temple.

Tim tried to calculate the various ways of escaping the situation, but his head had cracked against the hard roof, making it difficult to even see straight. There was someone hovering above him—someone attached to the boot on his chest. He was wearing a red mask.

From the warmth spreading toward the base of his neck, he came to the conclusion his head was bleeding.

He didn’t even realize that there was ringing in his ears, until it started to die down and he could hear Dick say, “Robin, you don’t get to ask for an invitation to dinner, and then try to change where we’re going to eat—”

The man above him had leaned down and removed the ear piece, examining it for a moment, before looking over his shoulder and tossing it behind him.

Tim closed one eye and then the other—trying to focus, trying not to see three of the man.

“Most people introduce themselves, before they start digging in my nooks and crannies,” he croaked, watching the man’s bright red head tilt. His foot pressed a bit harder, causing Tim to gasp.

_This would be a great way to go. Distracted by dinner, Dick, and Damian. Last words literally being ‘my nooks and crannies’. Great job, Tim. Bruce would be so proud._

Tim vainly groped around for his staff, but felt nothing.

He was, however, only seeing two of the man above him now.

The man put his pistol away and yanked Tim’s right arm up and almost out of its socket. He put more pressure on Tim’s chest—an almost unbearable amount—as he tied something to his finger, so tightly that Tim knew the circulation was being cut off. The man dropped his hand, and pulled out his pistol again, pointing it back down at Tim.

“So sorry,” a woman’s voice rang out, and Tim sat up just a little, causing the barrel of the gun to bounce off his skull. He winced from the pain that seared the back of his head, but saw the back of a small woman, who had her hand to her ear. “Timmy can’t come to the…uh, Red, what the fuck do you call these things? Whatever, Tim’s sort of…well, he’s underfoot. In more than one way, some might say.”

Tim’s eyebrows instinctively furrowed. _How had he been underfoot? Other than the obvious underfoot that he was obviously in right now? Had she been referring to him as Red, or…?_

The man crouched down, causing, if possible, even more pressure on Tim’s chest somehow without breaking any ribs yet, but it made him feel lightheaded. 

He thought that the man in the red mask might be studying his face, but he couldn’t actually be sure. Now would be a good time to do something, anything—he swung an arm up, the one without the string tied to his finger, and the man swatted it away easily, before slamming it to the ground. Pain shot up into his shoulder.

“No one of consequence,” the woman said, she turned toward them. Tim could only see the soft upwards curve of her lips, the rest of her face was covered by a black mask.

The man stood up again, and then pulled up Tim’s leg, tying something to it was well.

Tim tried to sit up more, but the boot sank deeper, causing him to grab at the leg pinning him to the roof, which was just a thick cords muscle that didn’t seem too keen on moving.

None of this boded well.

“Are you really coming all the way across town for me, Dickie?” the woman’s grin grew, until she was smiling a toothy, flirty grin. She had a dangerous voice—soft and seductive. “I’d say I was flattered, but I’ve heard all about your constant string of conquests. You’d probably come for just about anyone.”

“Make it quick,” the man said, dropping Tim’s leg carelessly, and turning toward the woman.

“No woman wants to hear that, Red,” she said, and Tim thought he saw her wink in the dim lighting.

_So, he was Red too._

Tim swore he heard the man mutter, “Jesus Christ,” and then louder, “I mean it, cut the shit and hurry it the fuck up.”

“Awww, you’re no fun,” the woman said, practically skipping over to them. “I can practically taste Dick, he’s so close,” she took the ear piece out and turned it in delicate fingers. “I kinda want to keep it. It doesn’t have a tracker in it—not like his boot.”

She kicked Tim’s shoes.

_How the Hell did she know that? How could she possibly know that?_

“Besides, Dick’s voice in my ear, I mean, it does things to me,” her voice was mocking.

The man’s shoulder’s straightened as he turned toward her just a fraction.

“Jesus Christ,” Tim heard him loud and clear this time as the man took the ear piece from the woman’s hand, and flung it back at Tim as he lifted his foot off of Tim’s chest and started toward the ledge. “Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

“Right-O,” the woman said, but she sauntered forward, crouching down next to Tim, who was taking gasping breaths of air. Her fingers snagged the edge of his domino, knocking away his hand as he tried to stop her. She was stronger than she looked. “You’re sort of a pretty boy, aren’t ya, Tim? You come from money, right? You don’t need to nod, it shows.”

Tim could see even in the poor lighting that her eyes were a pale, sky blue.

“ _Aegolius_ ,” the man snapped, he was standing on the ledge of the building.

The woman—Aegolius—didn’t flinch, but instead ran her fingers through his hair.

“You’ll be okay,” she said cheerfully, and then leaned closer in a conspiratorial way. “You don’t smell of death at all.”

And then she bounced up, and did a flip—letting out a carefree laugh as she ran toward the roof, jumping at the same moment the man stepped off. Both of them falling toward the street below.

Tim put his earpiece in and then tried to sit up, which proved to be difficult seeing as he was suddenly sliding toward the edge of the roof at an alarming rate, being pulled by a rope tied to his ankle. He scrambled to grab something, anything, but he was about to collide with the ledge unless he quickly jumped—

His feet hit the wall, causing his femurs to vibrate in pain, and he pushed off, flipping himself up and over the ledge, before toppling head first over the roof. He had faith in the rope around his ankle—he didn’t think it was a death sentence, but a message. Which, to be fair was a risky calculation, but the woman sounded somewhat sincere in her…smelling? 

He was caught by the rope about halfway down the building, bouncing once, twice, three times, before stopping to a slight sway. His whole body was sore. Including the leg, which was surprisingly not dislocated.

Only then could he focus on the onslaught of voices in his ear. 

“ _Red_?” Dick’s voice sounded desperate.

“I am very close, Nightwing, I am sure that Red Robin will be thrilled to be saved by me,” Damian deadpanned.

“How do I not who that woman is?” Babs was saying, sounding frantic. “Have you guys ever heard her voice before? Nightwing, how did she—?”

“Not now, Oracle.”

“I’m here, and I’m good,” Tim said, rubbing his chest where a bruise was surely forming, and feeling all of the blood rush to his head.

He was glad, even hanging upside down, to just get a few breaths of air.

“RED?” Dick yelled. “Thank god.”

There was a tug on the rope, and Tim looked up to see Damian peering down at him. It looked like he was smirking. Tim was sure he was smirking.

“Coming across town was a waste of my time, Red Robin, as you can clearly pull yourself back up onto this roof,” Damian said, he could hear the smugness in his voice. “So, thank you for that. Also, you two need to work on covering your identities, seeing as a supposedly random woman knows both of you by name. Father will not be pleased.”

“Robin, stop it,” Dick said, his voice sounding snappish, and he suddenly was beside Damian on the roof, already pulling the rope. “Oracle, we’re closing the line—who knows what that woman—”

“Aegolius,” Tim muttered, starting to reach for the rope to pull himself up, when he remembered the string tied to his finger.

He looked down at it.

The other end of the string was tied to the leg of a dead bird.

Its neck was wrung and turned at an odd angle.

A robin, to be exact.


End file.
